


Staring at the Sun

by obliviateme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anxiety, Bartenders, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Chaptered, Child Harry, Child Louis, Dancing, Eggs, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Fluff and Smut, Gay Bar, Homophobia, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Jock Louis, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Lighthouses, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, M/M, Meet-Cute, Nerd Harry Styles, Sappy Ending, Seaside, Separations, Ten Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4352618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obliviateme/pseuds/obliviateme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>8-year-old Harry and 10-year-old Louis meet on an island while both of their families are on vacation one summer. They immediately become inseparable and spend every waking moment getting to know each other. That is, until Louis leaves before Harry and the boys fall out of touch for ten years. That's when Louis stumbles into Harry on the beach again, this time a little more foxy. But only a little bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my lovely beta Megan (crashnburn) for looking this over and helping me shoot some more feels into it! and thanks to my mermaid Erika and my partner in crime Tabi for being the best humans, like, ever.
> 
> I'm also considering a sequel to this, so if that's something you'd like to see, let me know in the comments :)

6.15.15

 _And I don’t care if it burns my eyes_  
_And I don’t care cause my love is blind_  
_From staring at the sun_  
~mika

 

~*~

 

June 2005

The sun should be illegal.

That’s what Louis Tomlinson thinks as the dreaded beast smacks him in the eye, UV rays blinding him. He might as well be back in Doncaster; he can’t see a damn thing.

Lottie’s voice gets lost in the rushing of the ocean. “Come on, Louis!” She slaps the football upward and way out over the waves where it hits the water with a tremendous _smack_.

“Well if I could just see two bloody feet in front of me,” Louis remarks, and pushes his sunglasses up his slippery nose as he whips around. Lottie giggles and claps a hand over her tiny mouth. It’s not just any ball his four-year-old sister just kicked into the ocean; it’s the Adidas football his mother got him for his tenth birthday last December. He’s going after it if it’s the last thing he does.

Lottie shrieks behind him as he wades thickly into the icy waters. “Louis!”

How is it possible that the sun is blazing down is back while the water is one gigantic ice cube? Besides, this is Lundy Island Beach. They’re only off the coast of North Devon – it’s not like they speed jetted themselves to Hawaii or Disney World or something where you should’ve been expecting to sweat your face off.

The football is already halfway to Wales. In fact, Louis doesn’t even have sight of it anymore – just sees a far out boat – but he still jumps in. The water rises to his chin and it’s hard to breathe, but oh, there’s the red dot, bobbing way out there. Well, it can’t take that long.

Louis chances a glance back at Lottie and sees only a blonde speck reaching its arm up and waving against the backdrop of craggy rocks that arch and skyrocket up to culminate in one gigantic white lighthouse that looms over the island. Down the huge rock face, his mother watches his sisters. It’s a family vacation with the emphasis on family. They’re doing the same things they do at home, just… here. At Lundy Island. Louis tries to remind himself it could be worse.

It’s probably past time to give up on this bleeding ball, but he can’t. It was a gem, nearly two hundred pounds of his mother’s savings.

“So why the hell were you tossing it near the ocean?” Louis grumbles out loud to himself. He actually looks around to make sure no one is listening in, but a new onset of wind whips angrily over the channel and he shakes it off. Dang, what’s that spell they use in _Harry Potter_ to bring stuff to them? When Harry wants his broomstick so he can take down a dragon? Louis takes a deep breath and shouts, “Accio football!”

Nothing.

 _Ugh_. He’s definitely not any kind of magical and he’s sure as shit not here to defeat a dragon. The only thing he’s slaying are the undersides of his feet as he stomps on spiky something after spiky something. Oh Jesus, what if there’s jellyfish?

Louis’s almost underwater now, and he’s pretty sure the frigidness is sucking his private parts right into his body. He turns around, clenches his fists, and glares down at the ocean, thinking how he really doesn’t want to end up grounded before his family vacation really even starts. He doesn’t notice his knock-off Ray Bans start to slip down his nose until he’s blinking in the bright-white sun again. He leans forward to snatch them up, digging through sharp clumps of sand. Isn’t the sun supposed to be yellow? Why is it cloudy _and_ sunny? This is a family vacation straight out of some weird Goosebumps book. And where are his stupid sunglasses? Seriously, two important things lost in one day? What’s next? Is it time to jump on the ferry and go home already?

The waves bubble against his calves again when a high voice ahead calls, “This your ball?”

Louis scrambles to his feet, sunglasses forgotten. A small boy is standing there, dark hair slicked halfway down his forehead, gripping his football. The very same Adidas.

Wait, what?

Louis blinks at the boy. Is he seeing things? The sun is pouring in directly behind this kid who has water droplets nearly flying from his eyelashes as he blinks back at Louis.

“Er – um,” Louis stammers. “Yeah, that’s my ball. How’d you get it?” His face breaks out into a huge smile. He steps forward to reach out for the ball, but the boy takes him off guard by tossing it at his chest. Louis’s fingers grip the ball just in time before the water can whisk it away again.

“It nearly hit me in the face.” The corner of the boy’s mouth curls up as he says it, almost like a question.

A bark of laughter whelps Louis in the chest on its way out. “You were swimming out that far?”

“No, I was just starting to swim while my mum and my sister were tanning, and…” The boy still has that weird smile on his face. “I walked up to the water and it smacked me in the chest.”

Louis tilts his head, his eyes widening briefly. “Sorry.” He raises the football in the air, turning to the side so Harry can see his face. “What did I say about hitting people in the chest, Arnold? This is the last time…” He shakes his head and lifts an admonishing finger at the ball.

The boy snorts as he laughs. “You named your ball Arnold?”

Louis frowns and shakes his head. “Nah, just made it up.”

“Oh,” the boy says. “Well, I’m Harry.”

Louis was expecting the boy to go along with his christening his football, but then he supposes this Harry isn’t Lottie who goes along with his make believes, or Fizzy, who would just bat the ball right out of his hand and giggle uncontrollably.

He squints at Harry’s face, just missing the mark of blocking out the sun. Louis leans side to side to try to position Harry’s head just right – a desperate attempt at makeshift glasses – before Harry raises a hand to scratch at his wet face, and there, _that_ does it.

“Do I have something on my face?” Harry asks.

“What? No,” Louis says quickly. “I was just… I’m Louis.”

“Is that your real name?” Harry asks.

Louis’s brow knits together. “Yeah,” he says. “Wait, why?”

“Well, I didn’t know if you just made that up, too.”

Louis lets out a stream of laughter. “No, it’s really Louis. Like the French Louis. Not Lewis. Sometimes just Lou.”

“Can I call you Lou?” Harry asks.

The upfront question startles Louis. Only his family calls him Lou, and sometimes he can’t stand it, because it makes him feel so young. And he’s ten, for God’s sakes, he’s not a baby. Not even his best mate from school calls him Lou, because… Louis wrinkles his nose. That’d just be… well, too close, almost.

But he shrugs. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“Okay, Lou,” Harry says, and breaks into a huge smile. “Want to learn how to surf?”

“You know how to surf?”

“Well, no. But my sister was going to teach me.”

Louis squints over the remaining water that shallows out into where his mum sits with Fizzy and Lottie. She won’t miss him for a few more minutes. He thinks of his poor sunglasses, forgotten under the water, and nods.

“Yeah, why not?”

Surfing with Harry is the funnest thing Louis has ever done. Besides that time a couple years back when he and George stuck a whoopee cushion on their maths teacher’s chair, or when they teamed up to slather Thomas’s hair with peanut butter at George’s eighth birthday…

But this is something else. They’re warm under the sun, cool under the waves, and each time Louis’s head is submerged he’s elated. Every time he catches eyes with Harry he finds he has no choice but to break into a face-splitting grin. It’s weird, having practically no control over his muscles like that, but he likes it. He feels free. Harry’s older sister Gemma spends a lot of time trying to teach them proper technique, but Louis ends up spinning her board around cluelessly in his palms, too preoccupied with trying to stay in time with Harry’s movements that he’s barely aware of his body. He’s just having fun, and letting go feels so different from the diaper changing and disciplining he’s used to. Given a choice between tying Lottie’s hair in a complicated plait (because “boys need to learn real skills too!” says his mum) or a crappy attempt at surfing with a boy he just met, well, the choice is obvious.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says when the boys lie in the sand several minutes later. They’re not too far from Harry’s sister and mum. Harry says he’ll introduce Louis to his mum Anne, but tanning is very spiritual to her. So this is fine, Louis thinks, sprawled out on the slightly painful sand next to Harry’s warm body.

“Yeah, Harry?”

“Why are we here?” Louis looks over to examine Harry’s face, eyes shut under the sunrays.

“We’re… What? We’re here because we were surfing, and now… We’re on the beach?” Has this boy lost his marbles, or can he really not remember?

“No, I mean… I was wondering what you thought about the world and stuff. Last night Gemma was saying everything happens for a reason. Mum said it was just because she found a _boyfriend_ , and Gemma got real miffed with her. But I was just thinking, kind of. Like, why are we here?”

Okay, so Harry is a strange boy. But Louis can see where he’s coming from. Still, he has no idea how to answer that question. He knows baby spit and bad picture days and fighting with his stepfather. He doesn’t spend a whole lot of time wondering why he’s a human on planet Earth.

“Well… I guess I’m here because my mum and dad had me…” Louis starts. “And then… they decided to bring the family on vacation?”

Harry snorts with laughter and reaches out to smack Louis’s side. Louis recoils, kicking his feet out into Harry’s god-knows-what.

“Hey,” Louis barks through wild laughter.

Harry leans over and races his small hands around Louis’s torso, which earns him a good shove and a squeal from Louis that has to echo around the entire island.

“Stop – ticklish!” Louis exclaims.

“Ow,” Harry murmurs, rubbing at his left knee.

Louis shrugs. “Sorry mate, but I tried to warn you. I’m the most ticklish bastard out there.”

Harry’s eyes widen as his hands fall away from his knee, reaching out to grip at Louis’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says like he’s never meant anything more.

“What do you think, then?” Louis prods his new friend.

“Oh…” Harry says, falling back against the sand again. “I dunno. I don’t really care much. I’d just like to hang out again... If you want to?”

It’s Louis’s turn to snort. “Yeah. Meet me tomorrow by… the lighthouse?”

“Tomorrow?” Harry asks, sounding like an elderly woman who just realized she forgot to take her teeth out overnight.

“Yeah… what… what’s wrong with that?” Louis asks. “You’ll be here, right?”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Yeah. We’re not leaving for two more weeks. I just meant it seemed far away.”

“Tomorrow seems far away?” Louis repeats.

Harry half-shrugs, half-nods. “Well, yeah. What if… something happens?”

“Well,” Louis says. He doesn’t tell Harry he’s barely spending a week here. He lets a feeling of calm wash over him, leaving him oblivious to the fact that he’s staring into the sun. He opens his mouth and says, “Then come meet the family now, why don’t you?”


	2. Chapter 2

_~*~_

 

 _Close_. That’s Harry’s first thought when he shakes hands with Louis’s mum and nods at his sisters. They’re so close: the way his mum smiles at Harry like she’s known him his whole life, the way she asks Harry about his school and his home like she really cares… He can see how close they are in the way Louis’s sister Lottie slaps the Adidas ball out of Louis’s hands and screams with mirth, spiking it on his trainers over and over as Louis talks to his mum. His mum, sitting there shaking his baby sister – Harry thinks Louis said her name was Fizzy, but that couldn’t be her real name… Harry can barely remember Louis’s mum’s name – he knows it starts with a J, but his palms are sweating, and everything is happening so quickly. He’s excited just to have a friend and be around people whose bright smiles are dead giveaways to their personalities.

“Harry, where is your family staying?” Louis’s mum asks. She leans back against the rock behind her, feet crossed at her ankles as she strokes Fizzy’s hair.

“Erm, up at one of the castle… somethings,” Harry says. He pinches the skin on his bony knee for sounding like an idiot who doesn’t even know where he’s staying. Louis snorts from where he lays beside him, the large jutting rock above him shielding the sun from his eyes. Harry furrows his eyebrows, unsure if Louis is laughing at him or if that was some kind of jumbled throat-clearing.

Lottie tugs at Louis’s big toe. His mum chuckles. “Well,” she says. “We’re in Castle Keep South for the week. Bit gloomy, but not many can say they lodged in a medieval castle on holiday, eh?”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Our room is dark, too, I think we might be in the same castle.”

Louis snorts again. His mum chuckles again. Is Harry funny or does he just come off as dim? He scratches at his dark hair that’s tickling the back of his neck. His mum begged him to get it cut before they left for Lundy Island, but he’d pretended to forget and she ran out of time with finalizing all the holiday arrangements. Really, Harry found himself preoccupied with watching Gemma straighten her long dark hair for a date. What would all that hair even feel like? Itchy, apparently.

“I’ll go ask my mum,” Harry says, standing up so he feels less awkward next to Louis’s mum. It’s like he’s at a parent teacher conference. Even though she’s one of the nicest mums he’s ever met, all he wants to do is huddle down, let Louis jump on his back, and run off up to the lighthouse or go chase one of those puffins he’s seen squawking around.

“Yeah, bring her over,” Louis’s mum encourages with a grin.

“I’m coming with you,” Louis jumps up, and Harry’s face splits into a smile so wide he feels like a Tomlinson. And what a last name, too. It sounds so… official. Royal, like. Harry’s a bit jealous it’s not his, really. Harry Tomlinson. His mouth curves up impossibly further at the sound. He wants to say it out loud, but that might be weird.

Louis claps a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder and pushes him forward along the rock-strewn sand, making Harry gasp as the cool pebbles press against the smooth undersides of his feet. Even though the sensation roots him in the wet sand beneath him, he’s never felt more like he’s flying.

~*~

“Louis, back so soon?” Harry’s mum asks as the boys run up, breathless, Louis having chased Harry the whole way.

Gemma gives a half-hearted eye roll. “More surfing already?”

“Nah,” Harry says. “Mum, Gemma, you should come meet Louis’s family. The Tomlinsons.” He sucks in a proud breath.

They make their way back across the sand, Harry and Louis running ahead of the rest.

“How old’s your sister?” Louis asks before he breaks off into a scream when Harry reaches out to tickle him. It’s only been a few hours and Harry knows all of Louis’s ticklish spots. He feels like these are important discoveries to make.

Harry shrugs like he couldn’t care less about his sister, nevermind how old she was. “She’s eleven,” he says.

“Oh,” he says. “I’m ten.”

“Wow,” Harry says. “Double digits.”

Louis lets out a bark of laughter. “I knew you were a wee one.”

Harry scoffs. “I’m eight.”

“Ahhh!” Louis exclaims, and leaps across the sand to block Harry’s path. He reaches over and pinches Harry’s cheeks. “I’m almost old enough to be your dad!”

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes. “You’re not funny.”

Louis shrugs. “You’re laughing.”

~*~

At the end of the night, the stars are shining above them and both families are gathered around a small bonfire sandwiched between the cliffside and a large jutting rock. Gemma is braiding Lottie’s hair – Harry can’t tell how begrudgingly, because her face is neutral as usual – while their mums gush over how cute Harry and Louis were as kids.

“One time I asked Louis what he wanted for dinner…” Louis’s mum says, “so he crouches down in front of the refrigerator – must have been five or six – and just holds up a tub of margarine. I go, ‘Louis, that’s not food’ and he goes –” she pauses to laugh, covering her mouth with her hand as she does – “‘well, why eat it then?’”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Harry’s mum says, trying to catch his eye across the bonfire, but her son is too busy pointing up at the sky and laughing nonsensically with Louis.

“And I was a bit preoccupied, you know…” Louis’s mum gestures at Lottie and Fizzy. “And when I came back, the tub was nearly empty.”

“Mum,” Louis groans. “Why that one? It’s not even funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” she says. “You’re a butter eater.”

Louis just groans louder, taking advantage of Harry’s look of wonder and jabbing his short fingers at the boy’s sides.

“Stop!” Harry squeals, and jumps up to run off to the cliff’s edge.

“Not too far, boys!”

The pair make it about ten feet up the edge of the cliff before the stop, sitting on the ledge with their legs dangling off. It’s steep enough to make Harry feel queasy, and before he knows it he’s head first in Louis’s shoulder with his eyes closed.

“Oh,” Louis says, reaching up to pat the top of Harry’s head. “What’s got to you, love?” He wrinkles his nose, then, because… Love? This is the first time that word has ever sounded odd. Off, somehow. Midway through patting Harry’s hair, Louis realizes where his hand is, and he pauses. Then he brings it down on Harry’s head in a more fierce, rapid motion. There, that’s more normal.

“Ow,” Harry hisses. “What in the world are you doing?”

Louis giggles. “You don’t curse, do you?”

“What? No. I mean,” Harry says, shaking his head slowly, forehead glued to Louis’s shoulder. “Of course. Hell, damn, shit –”

Louis bursts out laughing. “Hell? That’s not a bad word.”

“My mum – yeah, you’re right.” Harry shrugs. For a moment the only sound is the rushing of the tossing waves below. The gnarled wood they threw together isn’t crackling in the warmth anymore, or they’re just too far up to make out any of its noises. “I don’t like heights,” Harry admits.

“I can see that,” Louis says. “But if we keep climbing now, you’ll be less scared of it later.”

Harry still doesn’t lift his head. “That doesn’t make sense,” he says. “And _don’t_ tickle me to try to get me to look up. I’ll fall off and die.”

“Harry,” Louis scoffs. “Why would I do that?”

Harry just shrugs. He feels like he can’t remember words anymore.

The waves pick up angrily, yards and yards beneath where they sit on a mossy ledge. Harry thinks he feels something tickling his leg, but the smell of Louis’s sun-soaked sweaty skin is enough to pull his thoughts away from any creepy crawlies, and honestly, maybe they should just stay up here. They could camp out and keep counting constellations. The rest of his family isn’t as… bright, somehow. Harry can’t think of how to explain it, just knows that if he lifts his head to look up, the proof will be right there in Louis’s face.

“PUFFIN!” Louis shouts, and Harry jerks up so fast he sways. Oh God, he’s going to fall off and tumble to his death and his twisted, shrieking face will be the last thing Louis ever sees of him –

But Louis just grabs his shoulders and yanks him to his feet, pointing forward at a dark blur. “Is that not a puffin?”

Harry squints. The dark blur lets out a loud, desolate bleat.

“Louis,” Harry says, now nearly doubled over laughing. “That’s a goat, you idiot.”

It falls silent, staring at them with its head inclined.

“That’s not a – fuck, I swear it was a puffin,” Louis says, sounding almost more disappointed than he looked before Harry rocked up to him in the English channel with his Adidas ball.

“It could be a puffin who just transformed into a goat,” Harry concedes.

Louis rests a hand on his hip and turns to Harry, beaming. “You know, you don’t seem eight.”

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Thanks,” he says, and without warning or any countdown whatsoever, they go pelting forward in the direction of the goat, competing for Loudest Yell as their legs, too big for their small bodies, propel them onto grassy rock. The air is rushing out of Harry's lungs in huge bursts and he pants as he tries to keep up. His expertise in badminton and Chess Club don’t really give way to excellent running skills. And even though he knows the rules of footie front to back, he's never actually been any good at it. But Louis doesn't need to know that, he thinks as he pounds his trainers forward on the cliff.

The goat is bleating, its hooves clacking over stone as it runs for its life, which is clearly in the opposite direction of Louis. Harry is trying so hard to keep up with his new friend that he's not paying attention to where he's going. Or where Louis's going. But before he knows it - smack. He runs straight into Louis's back and the pair come toppling downward, knees scraping on rock.

"Aughh!" Louis yells from under Harry's knee. "What'd you do that for?"

Harry groans and pulls himself off of Louis's lanky body. "I'm sorry! I don't know what happened, I was just trying to -"

"Don't worry about it," Louis cuts him off, and his voice is like melted butter. It completely throws Harry off. Most boys his age would call him names or push him back down or just completely ignore it. But here’s Louis acting like he never cared about chasing the goat in the first place. They both gaze behind them, but the goat is nowhere to be seen.

"Sorry," Harry repeats. "I was trying to catch up. I'm not very athletic."

"Oh, bollocks," Louis insists. "Don't be hard on yourself. Anyway, we'll find something else to do."

Harry's giggles bubble quickly into a belly laugh as Louis lands on him, fingers dancing down Harry's sides. "But you do get a good tickle for that," Louis lets out between what Harry suspects are supposed to be some kind of angry lion noises.

"Okay, okay!" The younger boy squeals, pawing Louis off of him and trying to push him back against the cliff. But it only sends him careening on top of Louis, practically saddled over him.

Harry's laughing uncontrollably as Louis suddenly stops his dancing fingers and yanks Harry up by one of his sweaty palms.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go to the lighthouse."

Something sharp jabs at Harry's heart and it's like a tunnel is closing around his eyes, vision growing hazy in the cool breeze as he squints up at Louis. Then he looks back down over the cliff's edge and his chest tightens even more.

"What's wrong, mate?" Louis asks.

"I can't be out too late, my... My mum will worry," Harry mutters, feeling even younger than he is.

Louis shrugs. "Let's tell her, then." He steps closer to the edge, cups his short fingers around his mouth, and bellows, "Oi! Families!"

In the distance he can make out heads turning from the bonfire, up at Louis on the rocks.

"Louis?" His mum hollers back.

"Harry and me are going exploring. We want to explore as much as we can before I have to leave, because I'll miss him," Louis yells down over the cliff.

His mum lifts a hand. Harry pokes his head over Louis's shoulder to give a faint wave.

"Alright, boobear, don't get lost!" The words are barely audible over the echo and the waves crashing beneath them, but Louis can make out that embarrassing pet name. He turns to Harry, hoping he didn’t notice anything through his sudden queasiness.

Harry's face breaks into a wide grin as he and Louis step away from the cliff's edge, the sudden allowance of freedom making their hearts pound without abandon. "Can you get away with anything?" Harry asks. "Boobear?" He adds.

The shove Harry gets in return is enough to get him to vow to keep calling Louis Boobear. He can't put a finger on why, but it feels so good to play with Louis like this, so unlike any contact he's come into with the rough boys at his primary school. He thinks maybe he’ll try to convince his mum to set up a school on Lundy Island for him and Louis to start up at.


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

 

When they reach the lighthouse, Harry is so exhausted that his knees give out and he falls forward on Louis's shoulder.

Louis chuckles. "Come on," Louis says. "You just climbed all that way, you can't give up now. Look, there it is."

Harry rubs his eyes. "It must be, like, ten o clock."

Louis scoffs. "It's barely half eight. The night is young."

If you say so, Harry thinks, and he follows Louis up the cobblestone pathway that splits as it winds out on the left toward a towering lighthouse and on the right to a long rectangular patio where people crowd around carved wooden tables, chattering loudly and chugging from bottles. A long sprawling sign tacked above the wooden seating area reads 'The Conch.'

"Look funny, don't they?" Louis asks, nose scrunched.

"Do they?" Harry asks, squinting over at the people in the outside bar. Large wooden necklaces clink over beaded tunics; long hair swings over loud patterned head wraps. "I think they look cool."

Louis pouts. "Maybe... They look like they're having fun, anyway."

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "Look at the bartender," he adds. Louis follows his gaze to a tan lanky boy stepping out of the indoor bar with a long ponytail and two brown bottles in his fists. "Looks like a girl, to be honest," he says.

"Whatever makes you happy, right?" Louis comments.

"Lou," Harry says abruptly, staring over at the huge looming lighthouse.

Louis looks over at him, eyebrow quirked. There's sand covering his tan shorts and mud speckled all over his plain white shirt and Harry can't help but laugh at the sight.

"Think I'm funny looking, do ya?" Louis asks, crossing his arms.

Harry shakes his head. "What? No. This thing costs to get in."

Louis's face falls so dramatically that Harry has to bite his lip against a giggle.

"Fuck," he mutters.

Harry pulls at his green striped collar and steps up to the lighthouse entrance.

"What are you doing, mate?"

"Seeing how much it is," Harry calls over his shoulder.

Louis lifts his hands. "Do you have any money, then?"

"No," Harry says, stopping and turning. "Do you?" He asks as Louis skips over to him.

"Hang on," Louis says, smacking himself in the forehead. "We don't need money."

"Oh no," Harry mutters under his breath as Louis marches forward to the ticket collecter.

"Hi," Louis says in a shy voice Harry hasn't heard come from him yet, and something tells him this isn't just his default Speaking To Adults voice.

"What can I do for you?" asks the teenage lighthouse employee, looking down at Louis, who turns and gestures between him and Harry.

"We lost our mum and we think she's up there," Louis says, his voice growing smaller and smaller. "Can we run up to check?"

Harry holds his breath. No way.

The teenager tilts her head. "Right, good luck." And Louis is beckoning Harry into the huge lighthouse after him.

It's Harry's goal to someday be as brave as Louis, he thinks as they nearly trip speeding up the white spiraling staircase.

When they get to the very top, Louis leans against the balcony and flings his arms out to his sides and lets the water-soaked wind send his choppy fringe flying backward. Harry watches as Louis closes his eyes against the wind, and something that prickles and ticks away inside him makes him run forward and squeeze his arms tight around Louis's waist. Louis yelps and as he jumps, Harry hugs him tighter to his chest.

"Let go!" Louis exclaims through rippling laughter.

Harry does, but he can't stop smiling. "Didn't want you to fall."

Louis is quiet. Just as Harry is about to ask what Louis thinks about the tangerine-fuchsia sunset, Louis pipes up: "Do you wanna own the island with me?"

"What?"

"We could buy it out," Louis says, inches from Harry with a totally serious look on his face.

Harry laughs. "Alright, yeah. But it's already pretty nice. What would we do with it?"

"Get rid of those weird hippies."

Harry clears his suddenly dry throat. "I thought you... You said they were interesting."

Louis squints into the sun. "Only joking, mate."

~*~

After spending two free hours in the lighthouse that smells like dank wood and hot air, Harry and Louis jog up and down the corridor outside Louis's room in Castle Keep South. It turns out Harry’s in Castle East, much too far away.

"Accio!" Louis repeats for the 30th time, pointing a lopsided twig at Harry.

Harry laughs. "Why do you keep saying that, Ron?"

Louis tilts his head. "It's the best spell, eh, Harry? Brings things right to ya."

"I dunno, I think I'd rather..." Harry tilts his head, eyes widening at Louis's ecstatic face. "What's the one that makes the lights come on?"

"Lumos," Louis says immediately, and nods at Harry like it's his turn.

"Oh!" Harry exclaims. "Oh, yeah, I see it. Like a light, right there." Harry nods back and points. He's looking straight ahead at Louis's face, and his bright smile makes Harry feel like maybe magic is real. He smiles and lifts his twig of a wand, turning to the window next to them and shouting, "Alohomora!"

Louis's jaw drops as he taps at the window ledge. "Look, Harry! You made the mail come!"

A scream of laughter escapes Harry. He claps a hand to his mouth and looks away. It's a sound he's never heard before, and it's glorious but it makes his chest hurt because he keeps forgetting Louis won't always be around to make Harry make these noises.

"No, honest!" Louis exclaims, and when Harry looks back Louis is holding a tiny black salamander in his hands. "Hedwig!"

Harry gasps. "Oh my God, is that real?"

Louis cackles. "Of course it's real. It's no owl, but it's ours now," Louis says, and flops the salamander onto Harry's hair.

"Boys," a voice calls, lacing together with Harry's scream as he ducks and slaps at the weird slimy creature clinging to his head.

"Hello, Mum," Louis replies, turning around to flash his mum a brilliant smile.

"Nearly ready for bed, boys? It's half eleven, and Harry's family's probably forgotten they've got a son," Louis’s mum says softly.

Harry and Louis lock eyes. Harry can't help but not really care what his family feels like right now, because he's having the time of his life. Even with a salamander on his head. He's sure Gemma can live with not having her little brother around for several hours, and besides, it's not like they ran away or anything.

"Do you have to go?" Louis asks simply. Behind him, the corner of his mum's eyes crinkle.

"I... I don't want to," Harry says, and looking into Louis's face at that moment is almost as hard as when he looking at the sun reflecting off the channel earlier.

"Boys," Louis’s mum repeats. "You know, you can see each other tomorrow."

Harry's eyes widen impossibly as he and Louis come to the same conclusion:

"Tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

 

When tomorrow comes, Harry blinks the sun out of his eyes and rolls over to find Gemma glaring at him and his salamander, who’s burrowed in his knit blanket.

"Have fun with your friend last night?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow as she yanks on a sweater. "How late did you stay out, anyway?"

Harry flicks his eyes over at his mum standing in the tiny kitchenette beyond the bedroom. Not like she doesn't know he stumbled back to their room at nearly midnight. It didn't feel that late, though. It felt good.

"Midnight, about," Harry tells her, shrugging as he sits up.

Gemma's jaw drops. She turns and stomps into the kitchenette.

"Mum, you let Harry stay out til midnight?" she shrieks.

Their mum purses her lips. "Well, he made a friend. Besides, tonight you'll both be here. It's supposed to be mighty windy out there."

For the rest of the day, Harry sits in their kitchenette and watches the billowing gusts smack against the tiny glass windows of their castle lodgings. All he can think of is how to get to Louis – as he sits, ankles tucked around the wooden kitchenette chairs, and eats his mum's scrambled eggs, as he sits in bed and thumbs through his copy of a Lemony Snicket book, as he plays jacks with Gemma... He watches their salamander crawl on the window ledges and wonders when he'll see Louis again. It's so gray and ugly outside that it's almost like he never met the bright-faced Yorkshire boy, and for a second Harry's chest constricts at the thought of having imagined the whole thing, and what if he just never sees him again? Louis said he'd be there for the rest of the week, but...

Harry's foot is halfway out the door for the third time that day when his mum calls his name.

"Harry, I said no, for goodness sakes. You're not getting whipped away by this storm. Then you'll really never see your friend." She puts her hands on her hips and beckons Harry away from the door.

Harry turns to Gemma, who's on the couch taking pictures of the floral patterned curtains. He'll just have to pray that tomorrow comes fast.

~*~

The following afternoon, Harry is trudging along the rocky water's edge with Gemma.

"There's no seashells here, Harry," Gemma sighs for the third time.

"There has to be something," Harry says, frowning as he squints at the rough sand under his feet.

"There's not, not at Lundy bloody Island," Gemma says.

"But it just stormed, shouldn't-"

"Oi!" a voice calls from behind the pair.

Harry turns to see Louis jogging with a tiny breathless Lottie struggling to catch up beside him.

"What - Louis!" Harry exclaims, and he's wrapping his arms around the other boy before they can even look in each other's faces.

"What's happening?" Louis asks, pulling back and looking back and forth between Harry and Gemma.

"Not - uh, nothing," Harry says. "Was just looking for some shells, but Gemma says there aren't any here." He tries to rearrange his face so it doesn't look like he's actually upset about being unable to add to his budding seashell collection.

"Aren't any here?" Louis repeats, crinkling his nose. "Well, I just found one." He holds up a finger before digging into the pocket of his tiny green shorts. He pulls out a black jagged oyster shell and hands it out to Harry with a smile big enough to yank the sun forward from behind the clouds.

Gemma snorts. "That's the ugliest shell I've ever seen."

Lottie giggles.

But Harry just beams. "Thanks, Lou," he says. "It's perfect."

"Lou," Lottie repeats, and Louis reaches out to give her a light smack on the shoulder.

~*~

"Are you really only staying the rest of the week?" Harry asks Louis as they leave Lottie braiding Gemma's hair by a rock and go trailing off along the water.

"Yeah," Louis says, hands shoved in his pockets. "I tried to ask Mum if we could stay longer, but she said that's not how holiday plans work."

"Well..." Harry clears his throat. "My mum has a shore house. You should come visit."

Louis just looks over and grins, and it's not the same smile that sends the clouds running.

Harry continues, unsure of what else to do: "It'll be just like it is here. The beach, the sun... But I mean, I'm not sure there are goats."

Louis shrugs. "It doesn't have to be just like this. I don't care."

"Oh," Harry says, feeling an unexplainable weight leave his shoulders. "Well I live in Holmes Chapel, so you could come there."

"Yeah," Louis agrees. "Pop in and see you and Gemma."

Harry wrinkles his nose. "Gemma?"

Louis smirks. "She's a looker."

"What?" Harry yelps.

Louis cackles. "I'm just taking the piss."

"Taking the piss?" Harry repeats, frowning through the Very Bad Word. "She's my sister."

"It's a joke!" Louis repeats.

"Oh sh- Look!" Harry exclaims, and he hesitates for a moment before tiptoeing forward toward a red-and-black blur. It only takes a second for the switch to flip in Louis's brain.

The next two hours are spent chasing a puffin around the island until they don't even remember why they're running around all sweaty. They take a break to carve their names into the side of a rock - or at least that's their plan before they realize all they can find to carve with is a piece of soggy seaweed. Instead Louis finds a bunch of jagged pieces of rock and Harry wraps the seaweed around them to form a huge lopsided H+L. They sit down next to their masterpiece and let the sun's rays toast their bare arms and legs.

"So do you want to play MASH? I'll take notes in the sand?" Louis suggests, his face lighting up like it's Christmas.

Harry grins. "Sure, yeah."

After they come to the conclusion that Harry will end up marrying Emma Thompson and have 23 kids and own a shit brown station wagon, it's Louis's turn. But not before they spend a good twenty minutes rolling around and laughing sand into their mouths. And everywhere else.

"Twenty-three kids?" Louis yells, digging sand up into Harry's face.

"Hey, I could be a ladies man!" Harry retorts, but he can only manage to keep his face straight for a couple beats before he joins in Louis's hysterical laughter.

It turns out that Louis is also destined for Emma Thompson, but with no kids, which results in a wrestle match. Harry doesn't mention that he's never actually wrestled with anyone before. He just knows Louis won't hurt him.

 

~*~

When the sunset shoots gold and vermilion into the sky, Harry and Louis end up back at the restaurant-bar thing attached to the lighthouse. On their way up Louis jokes about naming his first son the Conch, which makes Harry nearly fall over in hysteric laughter that he can’t really explain. It’s just the way Louis says things. Things that he normally wouldn’t consider funny. It’s the fact that he doesn’t mind that Harry slowed them both down on their way up the hill, and that Louis’s willing to listen to rambling stories about the weird gadgets Harry invented with Gemma the past several years, or as he put it: “when I was little.”

The boys walk up to the bar, feeling long-limbed and out of place. Harry thought it would be cool the climb to the top of the lighthouse again, but when Louis’s feet started carrying him toward The Conch he just sort of follows in place.

“Do you think they’ll let us in?” Harry asks.

“Stop worrying,” Louis says through a grin that makes Harry’s heartbeat settle, just like when his mum strokes his hair and talks him through a panic attack.

He shrugs and runs up behind Louis, pressing his chest against the boy as they squeeze their way into the crowded patio. A few groups are twirling in circles, swaying back and forth under the large wooden awning. Nobody stops them as they worm their way through to the other corner, toward the side of the building closer to the downward slope back to sea.

Harry’s senses are on overdrive. Salty air, sweaty bodies, bitter alcohol, shrill voices, loud music that makes the floor of the patio shake… Louis catches the look on Harry’s face as he stares down at his feet in confusion. Then he pulls him off the wooden floor onto gravel. He nudges into Harry’s side and leans in close.

“Do you know this song?”

“Er…” Harry says, tilting his head toward Louis and looking up at the roof of the patio as he tunes into the music. It takes him a few seconds to shut out the sounds of the people around him and the feeling that they’re all staring his alien self down.

 _When there’s no one else in sight…_  
_In the crowded lonely night…_  
_Well I wait so long_  
_For my love vibration_

“Er…” Harry repeats. Love vibration? What? Where does Louis know this song from? He’s gonna feel dumb if he can’t place it, but the beat does sound familiar, and Louis’s staring at him, and –

_And I’m dancing with myself…_

“Oh!” Harry screams, so loud and shrill it makes him look around wildly and slap a hand to his mouth. “Sorry,” he says, laughing at Louis who’s doubled over in mirth. “I’ve never made that sound before.”

Louis smiles like he hasn’t seen Harry smack his hand to his mouth over a loud sound what seems like a dozen times already. He grabs Harry’s hands and starts to shake him in an attempt at a waltz. “If I had the chance I’d ask a woman to dance… And I’ll be dancing by myself!” Louis sings along in his small voice.

Harry warms up to dancing when he closes his eyes and pretends he’s at his Cheshire house just flailing around with Louis in his sitting room or something. There doesn’t have to be anything weird about this. But still, his hips are stiffer than Louis’s which just bounce all over the place, causing his arms to swing wildly and nearly pull Harry’s shoulders out of joint.

“C’mon, Harry!” Louis shouts, and Harry yanks his eyes open. The sky is peaches and cream behind Louis’s head, and damn, if only this could be his life every night. Just over the edge of his comfort zone, but it doesn’t matter with Louis there. “Don’t worry about these weirdos, they’re all drunk!”

Harry’s laughing when a man clears his throat from a few feet away.

“You boys are just so flamboyant,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “You look like you’re having fun.”

Louis gives his usual cackle in response and yells, “Thanks, mate” over the music.

After the last “ _I’d ask a woman to dance_ ,” Harry looks around to see if there’s any women there. There’s only one, and she looks exactly like his mum. Hmm, no. Not dancing with any women then. That’d be weird. Harry imagines Louis dancing with Gemma and scrunches up his nose.

After another song or two, Harry and Louis step around the back of The Conch and approach the lighthouse, fully prepared to sneak in again. A bearded man sits smoking in a small rocky patch to their right. When they walk past him, laughing breathlessly from the thrill of dancing in front of what eventually became a sizeable audience, the man turns and raises an eyebrow. He eyes Harry’s arm thrown over Louis’s shoulder and Louis’s arm around Harry’s lower back and shakes his head.

“Starting them young these days, are they?” he grumbles, or at least Harry thinks that’s what he says. Louis doesn’t seem to hear him, he just notices Harry’s face that’s turned white.

Louis stops in his tracks. “What did he say?”

The man shakes his head and takes another drag. “You fags are just too cute,” he says in a cheerful voice. Harry has never been more confused in his life. Louis’s face is red as his Adidas football and Harry wants to do something to help him. He doesn’t really care about this guy and doesn’t even really get what he said, but the look on Louis’s face propels him forward into a crouched position where he searches desperately for something to throw at the man. He would never do this on his own, but Louis is like his personal trainer. Or something like that.

“Sod off, old man,” Louis says, making heat rise up Harry’s neck as he grabs a handful of tiny pebble-like rocks to throw at the man several feet away. But as cocks his elbow back and stands up, Louis swings his arm out and it collides with Harry’s chest. Harry’s arm jerks backward above his head and he drops the pebbles all down his shirt and his head.

“God – no,” Harry mumbles as the man bursts out laughing and gets up to walk away.

“Coward,” Louis shouts after him. “Sorry,” he mutters to Harry.

“I’m fine,” Harry says. It takes him a good hour and a half to be able to laugh about it, but eventually he does, shaking his head at his clumsiness as he and Louis again look out over the island from the top of the lighthouse.

~*~

The next few days pass in a blur. The pair plays Hogwarts make believe, chases as many goats and puffins as they can find, kicks around the Adidas ball, manages to go surfing a couple more times, wrestles a dozen more times, have two sleepovers - one in each of their castle lodges - and manage to climb the lighthouse for free again. On the last day the boys do nothing but complain about their families and plot how they can get Louis to stay on the island longer.

They walk the shoreline, the sunrise sprawling out above the water in a brilliant tossup of honeys and peaches. Harry stares into it before he realizes that what he should be looking at is next to him. But the farthest his eyes get is Louis's feet, soft on the sand next to his. It’s like there’s a million miles between his face and Louis’s. Like if he goes the distance, then he’ll really be saying goodbye.

A hundred yards away up on the hill, Louis's family waits for him to say his last goodbyes to Harry. There's a four hour drive between their houses, and Harry's mum seems hopeful that they'll be able to take a train to meet up with one another. And Harry doesn't see why not, even though public transportation makes his heart race. All he knows is he wants to keep in touch with the boy who looked like he was at a funeral when he thought he lost his football to the English channel.

"You'll write?" Louis asks, trying his best not to make it sound so pleading.

Harry's brow knits together. Is that really a question? Of course he’ll write. In fact, he'll probably write too much. They've already exchanged addresses, and he asked his mum to do the same with Louis's mum just in case, but... All Harry says is, "Yes."

They walk side by side for several minutes that are over in the blink of an eye. The sun is shining so hot on Harry's back that he can barely make out the freckles that have browned over Louis's nose over the week he's gotten to know him. All of this still doesn't feel real, Harry thinks as their footsteps fall short in front of a craggy boulder whose edges jut out three times as high as Louis. It reminds Harry of the Lion King rock, angled with an almost platform-like edge poking out. Waves lap at the rock's base, bubbling where they wash up and back down the surface.

Louis takes one glance at Harry and says, "I'll miss you, Harry."

"I'll -" Harry is saying before Louis cuts across him.

"Want me to show you something?"

"Uh... Yeah?" Harry spits out. Before he can blink, Louis has dodged up half of the huge boulder. "Wait," Harry mumbles. "What are you doing?"

Louis just gives Harry finger guns and winks. "We never got to dive, did we?"

"Off a cliff?" Harry asks incredulously.

Louis cackles. "It's not a cliff, silly. Watch." And with that, he runs up the last couple feet of the boulder, spreads his arms straight above his head, and chucks himself headfirst into the water churning angrily below.

Three things happen at once: a sickeningly loud splash echoes around the boulder and the channel, a wave as heavy as both Harry and Louis combined smacks Harry full on, and a high-pitched scream crackles out over the island.

"Lou?" Harry asks, heart racing as he runs forward. He's swiping wet hair out of his eyes when Louis emerges from the water doubled over, clutching his left arm and making a noise like a dying cat.

"What happened?" Harry asks, but Louis just walks past him in pursuit of the trail that winds up to where their families are deep in conversation as they wait for them.

"Lou," Harry calls after him. No response. The boy doesn't even turn around. "Lou!"

It takes until Harry is pulling on Louis's shoulder for Louis to whip around and snarl, "What?" And then his face softens into a frown as he rubs at his left arm. "Don't tell them, okay?"

Harry blinks. "Don't tell who?"

"My family," Louis hisses back.

"Lou, look at you," Harry says, gesturing at Louis who's hunched over and wincing in pain. He doesn't tell him that he can already see his mother peering over the edge of the short cliff that they need to descend the opposite face of in order to reach the ferry. "What did you do?"

"Sprained something, I think," is the last thing Louis says before he collapses into Harry's arms.

"Shit," Harry hisses. He digs a heel into the rocks beneath him to keep Louis upright, but it's probably the most difficult and ridiculous looking thing he's ever tried to pull off, and it reminds him how much better Louis is at anything remotely athletic.

He's gotta show him he can do this. Has to prove it to himself. So he hoists the half-passed out boy into his arms and half-carries, half-drags him up the rest of the cliff. It reminds him of that movie Gemma was always watching, the one with the small boys and a ring. A couple times Harry grabs onto Louis's left arm by accident and elicits a loud gasp from the boy, which makes Harry wince and watch him for other signs of pain, which then slows them down what seems like years. At this point the cliff is so steep he's pretty sure their families lost sight of them.

When he reaches the top and stands Louis upright again, he feels horrible. There's no other word for it. He's never said goodbye to someone's family like this - steering their son up a cliff and handing him over half incapacitated. He has no idea how this works or what’s going to happen. Louis's on his feet, but he's swaying, and Harry doesn't know how to hand him over. He needs to take care of him, not let him go. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Oh God," Louis's mum exclaims, running forward to pull Louis into her and feel his forehead. "What happened?"

Harry's mum's eyes bore into him as his mouth drops open. "He dove off a rock and I think he hurt his arm." It sounds so stupid, simplistic, and the looks he's getting shout, “Why didn't you do something?"

"For Heaven's sakes... I told you not to do that this morning. The current's strong, and - what cliff did you jump from?" Louis's mum does not look happy.

"Not a cliff," Louis mumbles.

Gemma speaks up, the color drained from her face. "Is his arm broken?"

Harry's mum reaches over to put a hand on Gemma's shoulder.

Louis hisses as his mum reaches out to smooth a hand down Louis's arm, which is bruised and bent out from his shoulder blade at a funny angle.

"Seems it..." Louis's mum says. "Did you hear a crack?"

Louis's not answering, so Harry clears his throat. They're surely going to kill him. He can't make it out of this looking innocent, can he? "Not over the waves."

"Shit," Louis's mum says, staring into Louis's face like Harry had been on his way up the cliff. Now Harry just stands there, arms dangling at his sides, feeling clunky and helpless.

"Will there be an ambulance?" Lottie asks from next to Louis, holding Fizzy's hand and frowning.

"Not on the island. We need to get to the ferry, and quick," Louis's mum says, readjusting her pack over her shoulder.

Harry's heart drops out through his stomach. This wasn't supposed to be the way they said goodbye. They were supposed to hug and clap each other on the back and remind each other to write and exchange mobiles - if they would've been old enough for that. But when Harry steps forward and tries to pull Louis into a hug, both of their mums yelp and Louis's mum claps a hand to her mouth. Louis only gets halfway into Harry's embrace before he gasps and withdraws. And great, he's officially ruined this.

"Bye," Harry mutters as Louis's mum wraps an arm around her son and pulls her daughters after her.

"Bye," Louis says, managing a small smile. "Sorry," he adds.

Harry sidesteps over to Gemma and his mum, not tearing his eyes from Louis and his family growing tinier and tinier as they descend the far side of the cliff. Maybe when he visits Louis in Doncaster, his arm will be fine and they'll have forgotten this part ever happened.

 

~*~

 

 _29.6.05_  
_Dear Lou,_

_How are you? I had my favorite class today. Science. My favorite was maths, but now it’s science, because I have the best teacher. Mrs. Ainsworth. She’s the nicest. And she makes this stuff very cool. Not that it wasn’t already. But I don’t think you think it is. That’s ok._

_How’s footie? I bet you’re the best on the team. I hope your arm is better._

_Holmes Chapel is boring. There are no lighthouses or conches here. That’s what that place was called right? I think so. It’s like a shell. Anyway, tell me what dates you can visit. Mum will get the place ready for you._

_Love_  
_Harry_

 

~*~

 

_12.7.05_

_Dear Lou,_

_How are you? I don’t know if my last letter got to you. Anyway, in it I said I’d been fine and that I really like my new science teacher. Do you have any cool teachers?_

_It’s so rainy out now. I miss the island. Is your arm ok?_

_Let me know when you can visit._

_Love_  
_Harry_

 

~*~

 

 _28.7.05_  
_Dear Lou,_

_Are you getting these? Can you come visit maybe in August? Or I’ll take a train there?_

_I hope your arm’s ok._

_Love_  
_Harry_

 

~*~

 

_16.9.05_

_Dear Lou,_

_We’re thinking about going back to Lundy next summer if you want to join us._

_How have you been? I’m a bit lonely here. People at school are mean. I wonder what ever happened to our salamander. Have you seen any Big Dippers lately?_

_Love_  
_Harry_


	5. Chapter 5

 

~*~

**10 years later**

~*~

 

Harry tucks a particularly long part of his fringe behind his ear. He wipes down a wine glass and leans down to tuck it under the wooden counter. As he's bent over, someone shouts at his ass.

"Any Heineken on tap?"

He stands up so quickly that his hair swings out from behind his ear and whacks him in his long nose.

"Er, not tonight, sorry," Harry says, lifting his hands.

The man, whose bald head glistens under the purple torches, throws his hands on his hips. "What kind of establishment is this?"

Harry clears his throat. "One that specializes in Carlsberg and Smirnoff and fruity drinks."

"Fruity drinks," the man repeats, and looks around wildly. In the corner a man with golden brown skin snogs a sandy-haired guy, whose arms are wrapped around the bigger man. A couple tables down, a girl with spiked hair shares a drink with a blonde girl whose leg is thrown over the spiky girl's thigh. The man turns back to Harry, eyes wide as saucers. "Fruity - holy shit."

"Yeah," Harry says, pointing roughly at the rainbow paint strokes on the indoor banner of The Conch. "Very fruity here."

"Christ," the man says, and just as he's about to exit onto the outdoor patio he bellows, "This place is for fairies!"

Grumbling and nervous laughter echoes around the bar. Harry's coworker Vena comes traipsing out of the kitchen, cackling. "Well spotted," she calls as the man rounds the corner and disappears.

"What's the longest you think it's ever taken someone to realize this place is gay?" Vena asks, leaning her elbows on the bar next to Harry and surveying the crowd that's still reeling from the bald man.

"I think we're about to find out," Harry mumbles as a group of jocks walks in, all sporting red and white jerseys. One of them with fuzzy hair lights a cigarette off another as he leads the group approaching the bar. Here we go, Harry thinks. It's always the douchey sixth form boys on holiday who try to start shit.

"What can I get for ya?" Vena asks the group as Harry takes another man who's just ambled up to a stool on the side of the bar. When he turns back to make a margarita, Vena is preparing an order of vodka shots. Harry rolls his eyes and sits back against the bar as the three boys down their shots. Then he stands up straight, tucking his hair behind his ear. He figures it's the least he can do to be friendly.

"Are you lot on holiday?" He asks the boys.

A shaved-head, jersey-wearing boy gives him a once-over. "Done for the year, mate. And where did you come from, the land of the fairies?"

Harry smirks and nods. "Yeah, actually. Miss it a lot."

The redhead boy next to him rolls his eyes. "Tyler’s only joking. But… are you… you know…?”

The shaved-head boy looks him up and down again. “Gay?” he shoots out.

Vena watches Harry as he pulls on his snakeskin dress shirt and looks down at his pointy boots.

"Wow, Harry, wonder what gave them that idea?" she asks through a smirk.

He shrugs. "Dunno."

The fuzzy haired one trails his eyes over the purple torches, the string of black oyster shells dangling high near the ceiling, and the seaside paintings on the walls. "Nice decor," he says, and his friends burst into raucous laughter.

"Yeah?" Harry asks, completely not in the mood for this. Vena is still watching him and he knows he can dart out into the broom closet if he wants to get away, but he doesn't want to leave Vena stranded.

"Looks like you're running out of shells, though," says the brown-haired boy, and Harry doesn't miss how soft his fringe looks where it falls into his eyes that glitter in the nearby torch.

Harry follows his gaze to the string of cracked oyster shells hanging behind the bar. There's an incongruent amount of string between each shell, and the string continues far past the last dark shell and loops around the corner, ending abruptly over the brown jersey-wearing boy's head.

"Yeah, well, they're... rare, I suppose," Harry says. He couldn't be more ready to leave The Conch all of a sudden. Only four more hours and 42 more minutes, he tells himself patiently. As he's reaching up to redo the braid on the side of his head, Vena reaches over to place a hand on his upper arm, where his rose tattoo peeks out below his silk shirt.

"I'll be right back, Harry," Vena says, and disappears behind him. He crosses his fingers for someone new to come into the bar, but no one does, and the only way he can escape the lads is to check on the outside patio. So he traipses away from behind the bar, pointed shoes clacking off the wooden floor, and approaches the first couple he sees.

"How's everything taste?" he asks the curvy woman halfway through a Caesar salad.

She looks up at him, fluttering her eyelashes. "Marvelous," she tells him. "Could I get another dressing, please?"

"Sure," Harry says, standing up and pulling on his ponytail to tighten it at the base of his neck. "I'll be right back with that." He wipes his hands on his low-slung black apron, turns, and heads back into The Conch.

When he passes back through the doors, a girl is sitting at a stool in the far corner and Vena is grabbing a mic in front of her.

"Greetings, everyone! It's Thursday, so that means it's time for a good old-fashioned Conch Open Mic. Now it'll get a little crowded as the night goes on, so sign ups will be up at the bar with your servers Harry and myself. First up we have Shelly Abrams from Norwich!" Vena clasps her hands together, slips the microphone back into the stand where it's angled toward the voluptuous Shelly, sitting in a velvet high-backed chair.

Harry grins and dips back into the kitchen. On his way back out with a tiny cup of Italian dressing, he sees it: the group of lads is jeering at Shelly, except for the messy-haired one, who’s staring him down. His body is turned toward Shelly, chugging a beer, but his eyes are trained on Harry. He looks utterly and completely focused, but his laser bright eyes make Harry's spine shiver, and Harry quickly looks away, trying to forget it. He's had his fair share of weird customers and people whose gaze lingers too long. Nothing new.

Shelly is starting to sing "Hey Jude" when Harry drops off the woman’s dressing, checks up on the other patio customers, and spends a few seconds admiring the English channel over the rocky cliffs. He checks his mobile and answers a few texts from Gemma begging him to tell her where he put her hair straightener: _How many times have u used it now and u still cant remember it goes in the pink rolly shelf?_

 _That was my first time_ , Harry texts back. And it's true. He's styled his hair as it's grown out the past several years, but only straightened it for the first time the other day before his summer shift at The Conch started back up again.

He tucks one fist into his apron pocket, rubbing his mermaid tattoo with the other hand and gazing up at the lighthouse towering over The Conch. Why does he always attract the weirdos? Why do straight people insist on coming to his bar? Flounder's Fin is right down at the bottom of the cliff, in all its sports bar glory. These blokes have to go out of their way, like it's some kind of wild attraction in a zoo.

The lighthouse is lit up and tours are almost done for the day. As a group of kids approaches the ticket collector, Franny, one of them points to Harry which creates a ripple effect of heads turning to spot the Weird Looking Bartender. It feels like forever ago that he was pointing out the tan bartender next to the lighthouse when he met that boy Louis. And they'd snuck up to the lighthouse and talked about owning the island together. God, there were so many signs that he was gay. If only he'd recognized them sooner... Harry rolls his eyes and grins at the whispering kids, feeling his ponytail again before he traipses back into the Conch.

Jesus. The boy is still staring. What does he want? Is he going to take specs on him and track him down? Does he think he's hot? Is he a closet case? As Harry traipses behind the bar, he thinks of Louis, the tall one with the bright smile. He wonders where he is and what he's doing. What he'd be doing if he were here on Lundy Island again.

Harry never got to visit Doncaster, and Louis never made it to Holmes Chapel. Louis never replied to any of Harry's eager letters asking after his arm. He didn't answer the ones about how footie season was going, or how his sisters were doing, or if he had a Hermione to his Ron. So Harry had given up, tried to convince himself he'd never met him, pretend he'd never met the bright-eyed boy with the wild laugh. And it worked well over the years, tucking that summer at Lundy Island under years of successive holiday visits and other relationships and now a job. He hooked up with his fair share of girls in school, even loved one, before realizing he couldn't be in love with them. All he could do when he was with them was think about what it would be like to run his hands down a man's smooth chest and wrap his arms around broad shoulders. And the only guy he'd been with had only lasted two months before he decided he wasn't proud enough of Harry to stop acting like such a homophobic dick to everyone else. That was when Harry told himself that people never change, and...

The boy will not stop staring. Three open mic performances have passed and he's still going strong, eyes boring through Harry, who's had enough.

Harry leans his elbows on the bar and gets up close to Louis over the loud girl singing over an iPod track. His friends are joking around next to him and Harry thinks by the relaxed nature of his body he's pretending to look just like them, but he falls short of the mark from where he's looking.

"Alright," Harry says. "Not that I don't appreciate a handsome lad watching me, but I'm wondering if I could help you with something? Another bottle? Or maybe a quick bite; our special tonight is -"

And then he looks up and really looks into the boy's eyes for the first time. He has blue-green eyes the color of the channel when it’s tranquil. And that nose that curves down just a bit at the bottom, and his jersey... Rovers. Doncaster Rovers. Harry picks up his hand and smacks himself in the forehead with it. Oh my God. Oh holy shit. Is it the same boy?

He's shaking his head. "I just had a huge plate of lobster. So I'm good, Harold, thanks."

"Oh," Harry says. "Yeah, uh... Just Harry."

"I like Harold better," the boy says, and his redhead friend turns to look between him and Harry like they've suddenly transformed into dragons.

"You'll have to take that up with my mum," Harry says, standing up straight and surveying the Conch crowd.

Vena skips from a couple's table to the microphone and says, "Up next we have..." She pauses to read from a paper in her hands. "Jordan Summers, on the electric guitar." The messy-haired boy finally looks away to the open mic spotlight under the gaze of his redheaded friend.

The girl gets a couple "woo!"s and claps before raising the microphone to standing level, hitching a blue guitar over her shoulder, and strumming the jumpy opening chords.

Just as a lesbian couple approaches the bar, the messy-haired boy and his friends get up and go sit on a bench to the right. Harry gets no time to watch the boy walk away. Vena hops up behind him as he's preparing the couple’s cucumber-cilantro margaritas.

"Saw that lad couldn't keep his eyes off you, did you?" Vena asks through a smirk.

Harry runs a hand down his chest in mock earnest. "Can't help it, all the boys want me."

Vena snorts. "Oh yeah, just the boys, sure."

"Look, I know you have a huge undying crush on me, but you're gonna have to reel it in, miss," Harry says, giggling when Vena reaches out to tickle him. When he turns around to hand the women their margaritas, he sees the boy looking at him again. And it's a whole body experience, like a warm x-ray.

And then the beat hooks him, right in the middle of his chest, and for the first time he hears the words Jordan is singing:

“If I looked all over the world  
and there’s every type of girl  
But your empty eyes seem to pass me by  
Leave me dancing with myself  
Oh-oh, dancing with myself…”

He looks up. And the boy is walking toward him with the most mysterious grin on his face, and as his grin widens he can make out the same tiny straight teeth that he admired when Louis would crack up at the stupid things he had to say as an eight year old.

But - Harry's heart skips a beat - it can't be him. Just. There's no way.

"Hi," the boy says when he reaches the bar, and stares down at Harry's shoes.

"Hi," Harry replies, and as the open mic girl finishes and the applause is building louder and louder, Harry leans in close, heart slamming into his ribcage, and adds, "Louis."

The next thing Harry knows he’s being shoved up against the oven in the Conch's tiny kitchen, Louis's knee between his legs, and their mouths moving hot together, arms sliding around backs and fingers pulling in hair. Harry pries them apart just long enough to pick Louis up and put him on the stove, removing a burner cover and tossing it in the corner so the makeshift seat can be as comfortable as possible.

Louis hisses when Harry pulls back from a long kiss, his pupils huge and his hands still tangled in Harry's hair that he yanked out of a ponytail ages ago.

"You were the tall one," Harry murmurs. "What happened?"

"Oh, you bastard," the small boy gasps. "God, I can't be mad. You're fucking gorgeous."

A series of chills shakes Harry as he trails a finger down Louis's forearm. "You got tattoos."

"So did you," Louis says. "And look, you've got a heart that goes with mine there."

Harry stops tracing Louis’s dagger tattoo, not even realizing he’d been touching it, and doesn't think it's possible for him to blush any redder. He never thought he'd see Louis again, let alone that he’d be interested in Harry the same way Harry was interested in him.

"I thought you were never going to come back," Harry says, and he's not even sure how the whole sentence comes out. He's so damn breathless.

"I didn't either, I…" Louis trails off, pulling at his fringe. "We were planning to come here at the end of this year for a little - a little while now, and I couldn't stop thinking 'I'm going to see him, I'm going to see him', but no, that's ridiculous, but you - you're here."

A huge grin snakes its way, lopsided, onto Harry's face. He's never quite had this mumbly-jumbly effect on a boy, definitely not such a pretty one.

Harry nods. "Yeah, I'm here."

Quiet settles in and tucks its way around them, scattering when Harry clears his throat to talk again.

"How's your arm?"

Louis frowns, his chin almost resting on Harry's forehead. "My arm?"

"Yeah, when you pulled that diving stunt? Off a cliff you insisted was not a cliff?"

Louis stares at him for several seconds while Harry imitates diving and cradling a broken arm.

"Oh," Louis exclaims, and then collapses into laughter, nearly falling off the oven. "My arm is fine."

"Is that why you got the dagger?" Harry asks. "To commemorate your 10-year-old suffering?"

"Harry," Louis says, clutching a hand to his chest. "You are a cheeky little shit."

Harry shrugs. "You know, I used to blame myself for that."

"For my broken arm?"

"Well, yeah..." Harry trails off. "Used to keep me up at night, to be honest."

"Oh for heaven's sake," Louis says, cackling again, and Harry brightens at the sound. "Come here, you idiot." He leans forward to close the gap between them with his lips on Harry's, whose knees buckle under the soft touch. It's like this soft kiss is their first one, and not the manic, messy one that ended with Louis on the stovetop.

Louis groans and drags Harry's face up to his, finger pads pressing into the warm sensitive triangle under Harry's jaw.

"You feel so good," Louis mumbles into Harry's mouth, deepening the kiss as he adds his other palm to Harry's face.

"Yeah?" Harry manages.

"Yeah, like... I've-"

"Have you – ever – have you – with men?" Harry tries.

"I'm getting there," Louis says. "Anyway, I've kissed a bloke, but I was drunk and I didn't even know I did it until the summer after. I had two girlfriends but they didn't know what to do with me, so, er... Haven't had much luck, really. How about you?"

Harry grabs Louis by the jersey and runs a hand down to his thighs. "I have a feeling I have a better idea of what to do with you."

Louis's responding whimper is enough to give Harry the confidence to call off work early and give Louis time to make some excuse to his friends before they go traipsing off to Harry's summer flat above the Conch.


	6. Chapter 6

~*~

 

Louis sits down on Harry's full sized bed and bounces up and down. "Would it be gay if I said my heart might fall out of my chest I'm so happy?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "You're bouncing up and down on another guy’s bed. You don't think that constitutes gay enough?"

Louis frowns as Harry swings his bag off his shoulder and tosses it across his small bedroom.

"I guess..." Louis says. "I thought it was just you."

"I'm the only gay one?" Harry asks, and Louis looks so taken back Harry's surprised he doesn't jump.

"No, no," Louis says, shaking his head rapidly. "I meant, you're the... I never thought... I was gay, just... It doesn't make me gay, does it?"

Harry stares at him. He doesn't want to make Louis come out or do anything he doesn't want to do. Lord knows it was hard enough with Troy Miller outing him to the whole school several years back. It's taken him six years to start to get comfortable with the fact that not only does he find men attractive, but that he wants to spend the rest of his life with one of them.

"You don't have to call yourself gay. You might not be gay. Some people like all the genders out there, you know? Some people like neither. You're whatever you think you are," Harry says. "And if you're uncomfortable, then we don't have to do anything. We can just sit here and talk about old times and I'll pretend you're not the fittest guy I've ever seen."

"No, I want this," Louis says, apparently missing the luxurious compliment. "I don't know if I'd like any other guys, like really like, but I... You're... I..."

"Whenever you're ready," Harry offers.

Louis's eyelids droop for a few seconds as he watches Harry kick out of his pointed boots. He looks out the window at the black sky and up at the lightbulb dangling over Harry's bed, and when he looks back at Harry's face he's wearing a tiny grin.

"I want you," he says. "While we're here, I want you."

The words make Harry's neck so hot he's about to prepare himself a tall glass of water. "Yeah, well... I may, just maybe, want you, too."

Louis's small grin stretches into a smirk as he watches Harry rub at the back of his neck. "The fittest guy you've ever seen, eh?"

Harry lets out a bark of laughter. "Didn't miss that, did you?"

Louis shakes his head. "Not a chance. Why me, though?"

Harry tilts his head.

"I mean," Louis continues, "you could probably get any guy you want in this place. Like, experienced ones, on top of that."

Harry rolls his eyes again. "I haven't found anyone I like here. And the last guy I was with crushed me pretty hard, so... This is the first time I've felt good enough to kiss someone."

Louis hisses. "Damn. Well I didn't come here to kill a man, but..."

Harry laughs. "No, I'm okay now. No man killing."

Louis gives a small nod, just a tiny jerk of his head. "Good. So are you... I mean... I have to ask. Is the top and bottom really a thing?"

Harry snorts. "I guess some people are really into either one, but I don't really mind either way."

That just earns him a blank stare from Louis, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Alright," Harry sighs. "Yes, it exists. And if I had to choose, I'd -"

"Bottom," Louis blurts out, automatically raising his arms to shield himself from the attack that he knows is coming.

"You're the cheeky shit," Harry scoffs, lunging for a pillow and smacking Louis sideways in the head with it.

"I'm not wrong, am I?" Louis says through the cackle Harry loves.

Harry just shrugs and lunges forward again, tossing the pillow aside and diving forward in a full-on wrestle with Louis.

"Agh, God!" Louis exclaims as Harry's fingers find his sides and he flips on top of Harry, smothering him against his array of fluffy pillows. He pins Harry down by the wrists and leans over the boy until their noses aren't an inch apart. Then Louis darts his tongue out and licks a quick line up Harry's nose, eliciting a high giggle from Harry.

But his giggle quickly turns into a soft, breathy, "No," when Louis's grip on his wrists tightens.

Louis pulls back. "No?"

Harry squeals and gasps underneath him as Louis sits back, straddling Harry. This is going to be uncomfortable if Harry wants to stop - what are they going to do, just sit there and try to hide their hard ons?

"It's just -" Harry mumbles. "Your hands, you can't... Oh, fuck. I really like it when you hold me down. I just wanted you to know what you're getting into with that. I'm sorry, this sounds so creepy, but -"

"No, it's not creepy. I mean, I want this," Louis insists, and he's chest to chest on Harry again, hands traveling back to lift Harry's wrists above his pillow. "Besides," Louis says softly before dipping his head in to tug Harry's earlobe between his teeth. "I find that very hot."

"Urngh," Harry says from under Louis, arching his back and pressing his cheek hard into the pillow as Louis attaches his lips to Harry's neck and starts sucking his way down to the collarbone. Harry twists and moans under Louis’s touch, his body heating up to what has to be an unsafe temperature. “Right there. Mmh,” he finds himself murmuring as Louis’s lips press against the dip where his collarbones meet his neck.

"God, your noises are making me so hard," Louis groans, his eyes drooping shut as he places long kisses on Harry's wrists and returns to his mouth, open in a low moan.

Harry kisses back feverishly before his hips are lifting into Louis's. He doesn't even know how it happens, doesn't know how he goes from motion to motion - all he knows is Louis's lips feel like cotton candy against his, and that he might come in his pants just from that quick tug of Louis's teeth on his bottom lip.

"No, no, kiss me," Harry demands when Louis bows his head to kiss his way down Harry's neck again.

Louis's grin sparkles like the sun, just like it always did, and he comes back up to hover his face over Harry's for several strangling seconds before Harry's eyes roll back into his head and he lets out a soft whimper that makes it impossible for Louis not to press his lips to Harry's. They move against each other effortlessly, and it's like Harry's been kissing Louis for his whole life. It's a little awkward, but not in the same way as Harry's awkward kisses with girls. This is the right kind of awkward. The good awkward. The _what’s happening? is this real?_ awkward, instead of the _Oh Jesus, help_ awkward.

Harry leans up into Louis's kiss, which only makes Louis push back and grab onto Harry's wrists again.

"It's like," Harry whispers between kisses, "it's like I was meant to do this."

Louis laughs into Harry's open mouth. "You were meant to snog me?"

"There are worse things," Harry replies simply.

"Much worse," Louis mumbles in agreement. His voice breaks halfway through when Harry's legs wrap around his hips and tug him closer. "Harry, fuck."

"Lou, I'm not gonna last," Harry manages, and his face is nearing scarlet with all the heat gathering between them.

"God, why the fuck are we wearing clothes?" Louis whines, and lets go of Harry's wriggling hands. Harry reaches forward to pull Louis's striped jersey up over his head. He tosses it in the corner before looking back to undo Louis's belt, whipping that across the room, too, and wincing when it smacks into his window. When Louis's shorts come off and Harry sees his strained cock _right there_ in his pants, he's never been so painfully hard in his life.

Louis trying to get Harry's white skinny jeans off him is another story altogether. "God, do you have these stitched onto you?"

"No, I just - they just require some... peeling," Harry laughs, and helps Louis yank them off.

"There we go," Louis says, and runs his hands down Harry's silk snakeskin shirt as his hips rock forward against Harry's cock.

Harry lets out a moan so low and loud he'll be surprised if they don't hear it down at the Conch.

"Is this okay?" Louis asks. He bends over; close enough to hear Harry's heartbeat.

"It's - I need more," Harry chokes out, and waves his hands incoherently.

"More - oh!" Louis nearly shouts. "You want me to take your pants off?"

"Please," Harry says, and digs his nails into Louis's shoulder hard enough to earn him a low hiss. And probably also scrape off a layer of skin.

"Fuck," Louis groans. "How do you expect me to do anything with - that?" He shudders as Harry drags his nails down the side of Louis's back.

But it doesn't take long for both of them to get out of their pants, and somehow Harry's thin silk shirt is the only article of clothing remaining, but Harry's brain is too fuzzy to question it. And apparently so is Louis's.

"Mmmmnhfgh," Harry groans as Louis's hips match up with his and he bucks up against Louis's cock, too turned on to remember to be embarrassed about any part of this. All he knows is Louis looks like an angel in the soft light of the moon shining in a prism through his window. He knows Louis’s chest is so soft and smooth and hard and just the right amount of furry, and he wants to touch every inch of him, and there’s won’t ever be enough time, and Harry’s so overwhelmed, his heart might give out.

"I want you so bad," Louis says, barely coherent. He sits up a bit to take both his and Harry's cocks into his hand, or tries to, but his fingers only get so far.

"You got me," Harry tells him. "But I think you need some help." And he closes his larger hand over Louis's between their bellies, shuddering a low growl out of Louis that he hopes there's a button for so he can press it over and over. They're both leaking and Harry's gripping onto the bed sheets with one hand before he gives up and presses both hands against Louis's back, dragging him closer again.

"What do you want?" Louis asks. "What should I do?"

"Just... What you were doing before. Just kind of rock against me."

Louis nods and raises his hands to place them on either side of Harry's head as he drags his hips forward and back, his cock sliding up Harry’s belly and sending shivers throughout his body in places he didn’t even know he could feel turned on. Is this what they write songs about? Is this what the sex he'd had with his girls was supposed to make him feel like? Christ almighty.

"Harry," Louis groans, his eyes squeezing shut against the sight of Harry's jaw pointed straight up at the ceiling. He picks up his hands to unbutton Harry's shirt and gapes at the swallow tattoos and the huge black butterfly on his stomach. He reaches down to run his fingertips over the wings, right where waves of fire are licking at Harry’s abdomen. When he reaches the antennae Harry flings his arm over his face and says into the crook of his elbow, "Lou, I'm gonna come."

"Okay," Louis says. "Yeah." He speeds up his petting off Harry's butterfly and with his left hand reaches down to wrap a warm hand around the base of Harry's cock.

Harry gasps and his head smacks back hard on his pillow. His gasps turn into screams as Louis pulls hard on his cock and rubs his thumb over the head, making everything wet and impossibly hotter. He can't believe he's never done this before.

"Harry, look at me," Louis mutters, and when Harry's eyelids flash open Louis gives one good jerk and Harry's coming hard in long spurts over his own chest. Louis gets some on his chin and leans forward to kiss Harry as he pulls him through his orgasm.

"Lou," Harry groans, eyes trained on him as he sits up and flips Louis onto his back. He kisses lazily down his chest until, still holding eye contact, he kisses the head of Louis's cock and earns a loud strangled moan from the boy. "Can I -"

"Will you?" Louis asks, and Harry's so turned on by the bluntness that he's half hard again by the time he dips his mouth between Louis's legs.

Louis shudders as Harry sucks and pulls and kisses. All Louis can see is his head bobbing, but it feels like someone's shocking him again and again. In a good way. None of this makes sense. Any sense at all. He’s drowning, crying out at the sight of Harry’s hollowed cheeks and his _lips_ , oh God…

He grips at Harry's long hair, tugging softly and entwining his fingers. "So hot," Louis mumbles. "And soft, and slick, and – oh, what are you _doing_ –”

"You like that?" Harry asks, and as he lifts his head to ask, Louis's nodding so violently the bed is shaking. He's so sweaty he's considering suggesting they shower together after this.

"More, more," Louis gasps. And he tries to say something, but he just spasms, his vision fading as he lets out a loud cry, and he wasn’t expecting to do it hot in Harry's mouth. But fuck, that makes it so much nicer, he wishes he could come in Harry's mouth every time he comes. Jerking himself off doesn't come anywhere near this.

"God," Louis says, wiping his forehead and loosening his grip in Harry's hair. "I'm sorry, I tried, I wanted to..."

"I wanted to do that," Harry says through a grin that makes his eyes twinkle.

"Uuunffgh." Louis squirms as he thinks about his come in Harry's mouth, in his throat, in him, and it makes him want to do so much more with this boy, but right now he just needs to feel him close against him.

A half hour later, they're still sprawled out on the mattress, Harry holding Louis's smaller frame tight and tracing circles down his side.

"You know, I suspected," Louis mumbles from where he's lying against Harry's chest stroking his swallows.

"Suspected," Harry repeats.

"That you were gay," Louis says. "When we were kids."

Harry's face heats up again, just when he thought he might be cooling down. "Shut up," he says softly.

"I knew because you were too cute for a normal boy," Louis says through a smile.

Harry snorts. "Oh my God, get that shit eating grin off your face."

They lay there laughing for hours until they fall asleep in each other's arms, still sticky, the ceiling fan creaking quietly above them and the waves crashing gently out the window.

~*~

The next morning, Harry stands over the oven in his flat making scrambled eggs for Louis, just like his mum always makes on their holidays to the island. Louis lounges on the tiny sofa behind him, leg kicked up over the arm. He looks so peaceful, watching Harry with a tiny smile spread across his lips.

"Almost done, Lou," Harry says, walking over to run a hand through Louis's soft hair.

"That sounds nice," Louis says, grinning up at Harry and wiggling his butt like a cat ready to pounce.

"What sounds nice?"

"Lou."

"I've always called you that."

Louis nods. "Yeah, but... I just like hearing it."

"You sap," Harry says, laughing as he taps the spatula over Louis's head.

"Don't burn your eggs," Louis says, unable to wipe the grin off his face.

"I'll burn your eggs," Harry retorts, and subsequently cracks up when he sees Louis's hands waving in the air as he looks around wildly.

"Sorry, can't seem to find the good comeback in that," Louis says. The mischievous twinkle in his eye, still the same after all these years, nearly makes Harry forget about the eggs entirely.

"You arse," Harry mutters as he shuts the burner off.

Louis gives a quick nod from where he's resting his chin on the back of the plush couch. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Something you don't know..." Harry says, dishing out eggs onto two plates that he balances in both hands as he walks over to join Louis, who's shaking his head and blushing.

"Why are you so literal?" Louis asks as he accepts a plate of eggs from Harry.

"Something you don't know," Harry repeats, brows furrowed in concentration as he chews. "I'd like you to stay here?" He tries.

Louis swallows a huge bite and nearly chokes as his eyes water, staring at the wall across from them that boasts shelves full of books: fantasy literature, vegetarian cookbooks, how-to dating books... Louis feels small compared to all the things Harry must know - let alone next to how tall he'd grown over the last ten years. How could he be enough for someone so good? But, said a tiny voice punching its way to the front of his brain, how could he not be? How could anyone else know Harry the way he did? He never even expected to see this boy again, let alone be able to be this close to him and… yeah, it almost makes him feel sick with nerves, but… doesn’t that mean it’s a good thing? Who else could dig through all their Harry Styles trivia like they were getting a paycheck for it? Who else knew about the noises he made when Louis tickled down his sides and rubbed fingers on butterfly wings? Who knew about Billy Idol and salamanders and broken oyster shells and sneaking into lighthouses?

"Lou," Harry's voice cuts across his racing thoughts. "Did you hear me?"

Louis blinks hard. "You really want to see me again?"

Harry swallows hard as he nods, feeling this time like it's some huge weird confession that no one's ever made in a more inappropriate fashion. After all, how well does he even really know Louis, they were just childhood friends, and this could be a mistake, but... It's the way he digs his fork into his eggs like a bulldozer, how he grins like every bite is Christmas, how he held Harry as they fell asleep, and talked about the past like he wasn't embarrassed. Harry just assumed he would be, since they never wrote, and he's used to being the only Weird Gay, and...

"Yeah, I do," he says. "How long will you be here?"

"All week," Louis responds quickly.

A grin twists its way up Harry's face faster than he's ever felt before.

"Do you want to see me too, then?" It might be the gutsiest question he's ever asked.

"Like I want to see the sun every morning," Louis says, and only stumbles over his words when he leans in to kiss Harry, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck with the other resting on his warm chest like they've been doing this for years.

“Then it wasn’t awful last night?” Harry asks quietly.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Awful? That was amazing, Harry. And I’d do it again now if you want. Practice makes perfect.”

Harry snorts. “Innit.”

Well, that seemed… bold. Didn’t Louis say he wanted him _here_ last night? Or while they’re here, or something? Like maybe he wouldn’t want him anywhere else? Harry can’t help feeling like he’s missing something, or maybe it’s Louis that’s missing something of what Harry feels. He doesn’t want to lose this boy again, but… If Louis is fine with this just being a fling, then… he needs to know.

A couple seconds’ silence pass as the pair chews. After darting his eyes around the room about fifty times, Harry clears his throat and lets his mouth fall open, waiting for his voice to follow.

“Hey, um…” He scratches the back of his neck. He guesses Louis is watching him, but he can’t exactly see as he’s getting worse and worse tunnel vision the longer he stares at his paisley pajamas draped over Louis’s knees. “Do you… Last night you said something about… Like, I know you want to see me again, but do you want… more than just a hookup, like?”

Louis’s eyes are wide as they dart between Harry’s. And damn, with that kicked puppy look, he has to keep talking to soften those edges. “And… why didn’t you answer me? My letters? I must have written twenty. Did I get the wrong address?” Harry tries to smile. His heart is thudding and his palms are sweaty and he just wants to hear Louis’s voice.

“I, um…” Louis says softly, and it’s his turn to scrub at the back of his neck. “I, yeah, I want to see you, and I want more than what we did last night. Of course I do. I don’t even remember what I said. I think I was probably trying to play it cool, to be honest. I just feel like I don’t know… how, or something?” He leans over to place his plate on Harry’s end table. “Like I’ve never done this before, you know. Anything like it. What if I fuck it up?”

“Then we’ll fuck up together,” Harry insists.

“And I got your letters,” Louis says hurriedly. “I got all of them. They’re under my bed at home.” He pauses, staring down at his bare feet. He’s turned so awkwardly sideways that Harry can’t even make out his expression when he says, “I met this girl right after your first letter.”

Louis’s face grows increasingly red as he turns to Harry to continue. “And we… well, did a lot of stuff that reminded me of us, I guess. Tickle fights and playing around and then I went on her family’s vacation. She was a family friend, and we just hit it off I suppose. I didn’t want to tell you about it like, hey mate, I replaced you, anyway what’s new with you? So… I was a marshmallow, I guess, and I didn’t want to say anything to upset you. I thought you’d just forget about me.”

Harry rolls his eyes to try to forget how heavily his heart is slamming into his ribcage. “Louis Tomlinson, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I wanted to visit you.”

Louis laughs and runs his hands down his face. “I know. _I know_. I did write, and I almost sent a dozen. But I felt bad, like I’d be letting you down, and then the more I thought about it the more time passed and the sillier it seemed to just talk to you out of the blue. Like that’d be worse than trying to let it go. I guess I ruined it, didn’t I?”

Harry rips his hands out from where he doesn’t even realize they were trapped, sweaty under his thighs. “Yeah, you might have made a dent.” But he grins. “So she was your girlfriend?”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, I suppose. Wasn’t much of one. I mean, I thought of you the whole time.”

A whole extended family of butterflies flaps their wings viciously in Harry’s stomach. “You could’ve wrote me and not told me about her,” he suggests softly.

Louis grimaces. “I’m never going to lie to you. And I’m sorry for being a berk.”

Harry reaches out to smooth back a particularly wild portion of Louis’s bedhead. “It’s in the past. You’re my berk now.”

Then they’re tossing pillows, smacking them sideways into one another, Louis leaping over the back of the couch to escape a smack from Harry’s body pillow that he ran to retrieve from the bedroom. And again, it’s like no time has passed. When Louis flops on top of him on the sofa with a rally cry, Harry squeals like he hasn’t in ten years.

 

~*~

That night, Louis sticks by the bar during Harry’s shift and introduces his friends from school: Randolph is the redhead and the buzzcut one is Tyler. Tyler’s the one who asked if Harry was from the land of the fairies. Joy. Harry makes drinks all night with the hopes of leaving his back to the boys, but Louis’s persistent gaze keeps him spinning around.

“Can I help you?” Buzzcut Tyler asks as Harry walks up to them for the fifteenth time that night, checking if Louis needs a refill.

Harry shoots Louis a look that he hopes begs the question of, “When and how did you befriend these awful douchebags?” He forgot to ask this morning, or afternoon, and he certainly didn’t think to ask last night.

“Piss off, Tyler,” Louis spits, elbowing him before running a hand through his hair and quirking the corner of his lips at Harry.

Tyler just looks back and forth between the boys, and then shifts his gaze to Randolph.

“You catch the game last night, man?”

Harry lets out a breath and shrugs up against the wall in front of where Louis sits. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he mutters.

With hours of running around sweating over drinks and meals and setting up open mic with Vena and making sure everybody’s happy, he’s practically forgotten about the way his heartbeat spikes when Louis’s friends look him over. He’s wearing a pink shirt with baby blue feathers patterned on it tonight, skinny jeans tucked into black boots that hug his ankles. At the end of the night he cares so little that he walks straight up to Louis and tugs him out of his seat. Vena watches them go as she leans over the bar, chatting up Randolph and Tyler.

“What?” Louis asks, clearly feeling the effects of his Smirnoffs as he half-trips over Harry’s boots. Harry leads Louis out onto the patio of the Conch, looking sideways at him under the twinkling stars and aching so badly to reach out and seize his hand. He’s half hard from thinking about touching him all night. He should just do it, reach out, he knows he can, but there’s still something so new and forbidden about all this. He wants the kind of contact that can ebb and flow easily, and holding hands seems so… stiff.

“I just wanted to see you,” Harry blurts out, stepping Louis over to the side of the porch and guiding the smaller boy’s arms around his neck. But his hands keep slipping. “Are you too drunk to hold on?”

“No,” Louis says, eyes widening as he grips tight on Harry’s neck. “I’m peachy.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry laughs as Louis’s hands squeeze at the nape of his neck.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Hey, I realized something last night.”

Harry’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. “What?”

“That song,” Louis says, staring at the cross dangling around Harry’s neck. “The song, Dancing By Myself –”

“Dancing With Myself,” Harry corrects.

“Right, yeah,” Louis nods vigorously. “It says, ‘if I had the chance I’d ask the world to dance.’”

Harry just stares at him, watches Louis’s bright eyes under his long feathery eyelashes.

Louis looks up at Harry’s tiny smile. “Well, this whole time I thought it said, ‘I’d ask a woman to dance.’”

Harry laughs. “So is Billy Idol your gay idol now?”

Louis smirks. “No, I… I got this tattoo when I turned sixteen,” he says. He lets his arm fall away from Harry’s neck and holds it up to his nose. “The ‘given a chance’.”

“Yeah, I see it,” Harry says, running his fingers over it before he drops Louis’s arm and laces their fingers together. “It’s a nice script.”

“Like, given a chance. Asking a lady to dance and all that. And now it makes no sense,” Louis mumbles desperately.

“No, it makes perfect sense,” Harry says simply, tugging Louis closer by their hands. There’s tables full of people, some of whom are sneaking glances, but he couldn’t care less. “He’s still asking the world to dance. If he has a chance.”

Louis thinks about it, tilts his head left and right, and chews on his lip. “You’re smart,” he decides.

“And you’re making me blush,” Harry says softly. “Come here.”

Louis’s body vibrates with heat as he rocks forward on his toes to aim a sloppy kiss at Harry’s soft lips.

“Mm,” Harry mumbles, and grabs onto Louis’s shoulders to place his feet flat on the ground again, all the while not breaking the kiss. It’s unreal, Harry thinks. Finding someone like this. He doesn’t ever want this week to end, and a strong wave of déjà vu hits him as he rubs Louis’s chin with his thumb. He just wants to fold this boy up and fit him in his pocket and carry him everywhere. A reminder that sometimes, things work out. And sometimes one of those things is enough to make the rest of the things fall into place. Like real magic. He sways.

He thinks kissing Louis is making him drunk.

He pulls the musky-smelling boy closer and whispers in his ear. “We’re still buying the island, right?”

Louis nods against Harry before he stands on tip toes again to place a trail of kisses in the crook of his neck.

“Right, love.”

The sky overhead is long dark, but Harry doesn’t notice. Louis lights up the patio like no light he’s ever seen.

~*~


End file.
